


Stitched Up

by Hino



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Based off an idea by Naniroxy, Body Horror, Fusion-like, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:55:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7034512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hino/pseuds/Hino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You complete me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking

There was this terrible itch down the front of his face.

 

Paul grumbled, scratching at his nose. It felt rough, and touching it hurt, making him hiss. Something felt wrong.  
He reached for a cigarette, lighting it and taking a breath.

"Huh... tastes funny, he mumbled. “I didn’t change brands so-”

 

He stopped, feeling a tightness in his chest. It ached and as he opened his mouth to take a breath, he felt it be forced out in a harsh cough. His body quaked as he struggled to breathe, and the cigarette tumbled to the floor, smoking gently while Paul struggled to get some air. Deep, panicked breaths filled his chest, and the pain slowly ebbed away, leaving him exhausted but in one piece.

“What the hell...” he found himself asking in confusion. A feeling of dread settled over him as he bent down to pick up the cigarette, and it only lingered as he put it behind his ear, not feeling comfortable enough to put it back in his mouth. His vision blurred as he stood back up, and he rubbed at his eye, trying to clear it up, finding comfort in the darkness.

 

Wait.  
Hold the phone.  
One eye?

 

Paul’s eye snapped open, and he looked around frantically. The room he was in looked the same as it had when he’d gone to bed last night. It was his office, equipped for military life. His bed was in the corner, and beside it was his nightstand with his lamp and ashtray. Just across the way was his desk and chair, along with all the important paperwork he had to file. His bookcase was just beside that, and wedged between it and the wall was his mirror.

“Mirror?” he softly asked himself as everything seemed to go in slow motion.

 

Very slowly, he began to approach. Something in his mind warned him not to go, and his thoughts seemed to cloud over. He became dizzy, unbalanced, and he stumbled, landing on the desk. It sent his papers flying, but he ignored it, forcing himself to regain his footing and keep walking.

It seemed to take an eternity to reach the mirror, but once he had, all the feelings that had been trying to slow him down vanished, knowing their existence was useless.

There was a large line of stitches trailing down his face, following his neck and trailing down below his shirt. The left half of his face was pale and soft, with little flecks of stubble clinging to his chin and cheek while his thick eyebrow sat just below his sideswept hair. The other was darker, with a smooth face, thin eyebrow above a closed eye, and hair that curved in the strangest way. 

It stunned Paul into silence, and he could only stare at his reflection, trying to take in what the hell was going on.

“Patryk?” he asked, finally realizing who was attached to him.

 

The eye opened and moved slightly, staring at Paul.  
“Hello,” Patryk greeted.


	2. Panicking

“Paul... Paul-”

Patryk’s voice was drowned out as Paul began to retch, arms wrapped around his middle. His legs began to move on his own, and it wasn’t until the door had been pried open with his feet that he noticed Patryk muttering between each gagging sound. The communal bathroom door was kicked open, and more than a few soldiers jumped in the urinals, turning just in time to see the body force itself into a toilet stall.

The door slammed shut behind them as their knees gave out, hands gripping the toilet bowl. A few more deep breaths and Paul let himself go, retching and spitting out anything he had inside him. It burnt and he ached, but the disgust of what had happened, and the fear of it made it hard to stop. His right hand moved of its own accord, bending so it could pat his back, trying to soothe him. It was a kind gesture, but it only made his illness worse, spitting out nothing but bile and acid.

“Paul,” Patryk’s voice began as he paused to breathe, chest heaving and body quaking with the effort put into expelling all of his stomach’s contents. “Paul, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” he shouted back. If the few men who lingered in the bathroom weren’t confused by the soldier’s sudden entrance, then hearing both Paul and Patryk’s voice coming from the same stall was going to do it. There was a resounding echo of zippers being done up and flushes from the urinals, followed by frantic footsteps, all trying to leave the room at once. Paul felt embarrassment flood him while Patryk patted his back again, trying to settle him down. “It’s not alright.”

Patryk sighed, and Paul hated it. They shared a mouth, and feeling it move at someone else’s will just threw him off. “We’ll get through this.”

Paul felt himself get angry. “How are you so calm about this? Fuck, we’re stitched together Patryk. Where’s the rest of us?”

There was silence from his other half, and Paul felt himself get nervous. Patryk was in the same position as him, stitched to his coworker without a reason or explanation. He was just a calmer person than Paul. “Hey, I’m sorr-”

“-Let’s... try and find Tord.” Patryk’s voice was quiet as he grabbed some toilet paper and wiped their mouth with it. Paul let himself be moved, trying to ignore the strange feeling of not being in control. Patryk flushed the toilet and moved over to the tap to wash their hands, trying not to look in large wall mirrors that sat above the handwashing station. Drying their hands, Patryk took them down the halls towards Tord’s office, slowing down as they got closer.

 

“I’m not ready,” he said, legs locking up and fists clenching. “I’m not- I’m not ready to go in there.” His voice was a whimper, and Paul felt himself getting concerned as Patryk began to sob.

“It’s alright,” Paul tried to soothe. “Maybe... Maybe this will help?” He reached up for his cigarette and held it, waiting for Patryk to take control. The other brought the stick to their lips and breathed in, taking a good drag of it. Their body began to spasm again, but Paul found himself calming it down, letting them breathe out a cloud of smoke. Patryk’s clenched hand loosened, and their locked up legs gave out, sending them onto the floor. 

They sat in the middle of the hallway, knees together and legs at their sides, just slowly breathing in the cigarette smoke. It was soothing and calming, bringing down their frantic heart rate.

Patryk put the cigarette behind his ear and folded their hands together, trying to think.  
“I... I woke up first.”

“You did?” Paul asked, turning his head to the right just slightly. Patryk nodded, looking to the left.

“We were in my office to start. I noticed something was wrong, and looked in the mirror on the back of my door. You were still out of it at the time.” He let their head drop, looking uneasily at their twitchy hands. “I took us to your room. You started waking up, so I took a backseat.”

Paul was silent for a moment. “So you were just as confused as I was.”

“Still am.”

“Oh.” Paul frowned, quietly thinking to himself. He gently untangled his hand from the other, and reached for the cigarette behind Patryk’s ear, taking a long breath of it and letting it go with force. 

“We can’t sit here forever,” Patryk softly noted.

He was right, as much as neither of them wanted to admit it. Paul sighed and heaved them to their feet. He let the stick sit between their lips, and reached for Patryk’s hand, holding onto it with reassurance. “If I hold your hand, will you feel better?” he asked, cigarette bouncing with every word.

Patryk laughed, giving Paul’s hand a squeeze. “That’s so stupid.”

“But it works?” Paul asked.

“A little,” came Patryk’s reserved answer. They rocked on their heels together, trying to build up enough momentum to start walking again. It was hard, but Paul forced a leg forward, and Patryk followed along. 

They stumbled, but soon they were walking, one step after the other.


	3. Learning

Together they stood at Red Leader’s door. Patryk gripped the handle while Paul rested his hand on the carved designs outlining the wood. They were trembling, but they held strong. Together, they could do anything. At least Paul thought so. His thoughts leaked over to Patryk, offering the reassurance, but not the entire concept.

“Ready?” Paul asked, turning their head to the right.

“Not at all,” Patryk answered, looking to the left for a moment before setting their gaze straight, opening the door. 

 

It swung open with a loud, stretching creak that startled them both. Patryk snatched up Paul’s hand, holding it tightly as they clumsily and awkwardly entered the room. Their trembling legs took them in strange steps, which certainly made Tord stop his paperwork.

“Sir!” They forced themself to stand before his desk, both sides attempting to salute. Instead, it looked like some strange pose, with their elbows out and back straight.

Tord didn’t answer them, instead staring at the stitched up mess standing before him. Their faces looked wrong together, and even their uniform, which was meant to be a symbol of unity, was mashed up. Patryk’s white sash ended abruptly where it had been sewn into Paul’s closed coat, creating a scrappy mockery of the Red Army.

“We could have done better.” He rested his chin on his hands, looking up at the figure before him. “Even out the skin tone a bit more, make a better hair style. Fix that uniform too...”

Patryk raised an eyebrow. “Sir?” 

“Hm?” Tord sat up straighter, hands folded neatly on his desk. “I see the two of you have realized what happened.”

Paul scowled. “We’ve been stitched together, Sir. It’s not that hard to guess.”

“But why?” Patryk set his hand down on the desk and leant forward, forcing Paul to come with him. “Why did you sew us together? There had to be a reason, right?”

There was a deep breath and a heavy sigh from Tord as he stood, moving away from his desk and towards the large doors at the back of his office. “Follow me. Tell no one what you see in here. This is secret, as in “I will kill people for thinking about it” secret.”  
In response, Paul and Patryk held hands, offering comfort to themselves as they followed their boss through the large double doors. 

 

As soon as they crossed the threshold, the atmosphere changed. It became heavier, and crackled with electricity, something that made Paul and Patryk’s hair stand on end. They were fearful, with Tord’s presence being the only thing that stopped them from running away then and there. “Through here,” he said, pointing to another set of doors.

Crossing through those was like a breath of fresh air. The taste of sterilization of cleanliness settled on the stitched man’s tongue, sending a shiver down their spine. Tord seemed unfazed, walking towards the back of the rather bright lab where a large case sat over a table. As Paul and Patryk’s approached, their knees shook, both unable to accept what they saw.

“We were in the field together, and you both took extreme damage while trying to save me and the other men in our squad.” Tord set a hand on the glass covering and sighed, body slumping. “In an attempt to save you both, and in some twisted desire to know if we could, we salvaged as many organs as we could, and stitched you both together, using the least injured half. It’s been... a few weeks.”

“So you...” Paul couldn’t finish, eye glued to the sight on the table. Patryk refused to look, but from the way his other half was reacting, it wasn’t good. “You just...”  
Words failed him as he looked at the two remaining halves on the table, stitched together purely so they would look less grotesque. Bullet holes and deep cuts riddled their body, and large, ugly stitches ran up the middle, with much less care than Paul and Patryk had gotten. Parts of the body were flatter, something Paul noticed easily. He could see the missing brains, shown by the caved in skull and the badly sewn skin. Their stomach was flatter on one side too, showing the organ was gone. All over, various little pieces of their body was twisted or morphed, broken and useless. “Was there any way it could have lived?”

Tord shook his head. “One of your brains would have had to be in it. Would you like to live that way?”

Patryk brought his hand up to rest on the glass, forcing himself to open his eye and look at the body. “You don’t have to,” Paul softly assured, but Patryk ignored him, taking in the sight. It was horrific, but it drove home the finality of the situation. 

“Sir, are you planning to do anything with it?” Patryk asked, turning their body so they could face Tord fully. “Experiments or otherwise?”

He shook his head. “The scientists have gotten everything they can from it. The chamber stops it from decaying but-”

“Can-” Patryk cut himself off and took a step back, suddenly feeling uneasy with his request. 

Paul scratched his face for a moment before taking a deep drag of the cigarette still in his mouth, letting it out with a sigh. “May we hold a funeral for it?”

Tord paused for a moment, caught off guard. “A funeral?” he asked. The other nodded. “I suppose I could. Would you like it to be a Red Army affair, or a smaller, private one.”

“Both.” They answered simultaneously, seeming content.

The cooperation made the Red Leader smile. “I’ll get to work on it soon.”


	4. Acceptance

The sight of smoke rising from the crematorium on base put the soldiers on edge. Hushed whispers passed between divisions, quietly asking who it was, who was missing people from their squadrons. The fear that some friend of theirs from the medbay, or some prisoner, or just some unlucky soul was in there put everyone in a state of frenzy. After an hour of the rising smoke, the once strong army was a wreck, transformed into a group of concerned and fearful people looking for their loved ones.

 

“Are you going to tell them?” Paul asked, holding Patryk’s hand as they sat in Tord’s office, looking out over the yard through the large window. Tord looked away from his paperwork, turning his gaze to the panicked soldiers. “I mean, the crematorium has set dates. Doing this now is just-”

He stopped as the Norwegian raised his hand, face calm and calculating. Patryk could see him thinking, and gave Paul’s hand a squeeze, asking him to be silent. “I think…” he began, making Paul and Patryk turn to face him. “If you two permit it, I’ll tell them what’s become of you. This whole…” he gestured towards them, “…thing, it’s been under wraps. What would you have them call you?”

“Paul and Patryk,” came Paul’s answer.

“Can’t we have a new name?” Patryk asked.

“No, we’re different people.”

“But still, this is something new-”

“Your point is?”

“It’s like turning over a new leaf.” Patryk sighed and rubbed at his face. “This… this could be something new.”

Paul frowned at the statement, doing his best to cross their arms, despite only controlling one of them. “Then what?”

 

Tord’s chair creaked as he leant forward, silencing the two. He had his chin on his hands, and the look in his eye was serious, thinking hard. After a few moments, he smiled and sat up straight, hands on his desk. “The men can refer to you as Paultryk. I will ask that they stop using the names “Paul” and “Patryk” unless they wish to address one of you personally. I’ll also ask them not to speak to either of you until they are spoken to, or until you are both ready to address people under your new identity. Is this alright?”

They looked to the left and then the right, mulling the decision over. It was too much to take in, and Paul felt Patryk shutting down, noting the way his hand loosened its grip and his body began to tip over. “Patty?”

Patryk gave no answer, continuing to slump over. Tord quickly stood, hurrying around the desk to catch Patryk, and by extension, Paul, before they hit the ground. Paul’s hand twitched, trying to grab onto something. “Is- Is he alright?”

“He passed out.” Tord’s voice was quiet as he sat Paul onto the chair again, making sure he could sit straight. “I’ll call a nurse to bring a wheelchair.”

Paul gave a hum of understanding as the Norwegian grabbed his phone, dialling a few numbers. He reached into his breast pocket, withdrawing a cigarette and placing it in his mouth. “I find it amusing,” Paul began, leaning forward as best he could when Tord offered a lighter. “Patryk wanted us to share a name, and he’s the one that passes out when we get it.”

 

The cigarette bobbed up and down as he spoke, but Tord managed to light it. Paul leant back, taking a deep breath of it while using his arm to grab the desk for support.

“I don’t think he expected me to agree so fast,” came the simple answer, making Paul stop. Tord spoke into the phone quickly, ordering someone to come up before setting the phone back down. “You know I like to ponder my choices.”

“I do,” Paul answered as Tord sat down in the chair again.

“I’ve been thinking about this for some time,” Tord continued. “I had wanted to bring it up but…”

This time, Paul said nothing. He understood, and it seemed like Red Leader knew that. Taking a deep drag of the cigarette, he let the smoke surround him, relaxing under the hit of nicotine. It didn’t last long though, with the doors opening to reveal two military nurses and a chair. “Sir?”

“Hm?”

Paul looked to Tord with a smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem… Paultryk.”

The word felt funny coming off Tord’s tongue, and it took Paul a moment to understand how he’d been addressed, but he nodded in acceptance. The nurses lifted them into a chair, and Paul felt himself sink into it. With only a few words swapped between the medical staff and Red Leader, they began to wheel them away.

 

“Sir?”

The nurses stopped, and Tord stood. “Yes?”

“May we have a new name tag, Sir?”

Tord laughed. “Of course.”

Content with the answer, Paultryk let themself be wheeled away.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic Naniroxy asked for, and which I thought I'd give a shot.  
> We're both rather pleased.


End file.
